Last week everyone was very mad at Ryan Murphy, who has deemed it necessary to give us American Love Story: JFK Jr and Carolyn Bessette Kennedy. The reason for the anger was not, as you might think, questioning whether or not this is something the world really needs (I think it is not!), but rather: clothes. Specifically, some clothes on the actress depicting Carolyn Bessette Kennedy in a number of pre-production (???) camera tests and paparazzi shots of apparent rehearsals.
The clothes were definitely all wrong, which seemed weird for a production that undoubtedly has a huge budget. Also, Carolyn Bessette was, for a number of very intense years, one of the most photographed women in the world; her style is extremely well documented. So it seemed odd to put her in a thin wool blend Chadwick’s of Boston-ass looking coat still creased from the plastic shipping bag, a pair of LOFT capri pants, and some very wrong slingback kitten heels. We’ll not speak of the empty Birkin, it’s too sad.
Anyway Ryan Murphy clapped back and said calm down, we’re working on it!
Carolyn did not grant interviews and did not talk to the press, so the clothes are what we know. She was 33 when she died, and I don’t know how old you are, but I am 51, and 33 seems like a long time ago. It’s very young! A lot of her story never got written. So the least we can do is see her avatar in the proper coats and shoes.
This seems like a silly thing to get worked up about but what are we supposed to do? Worry about world affairs?! We will see Carolyn Bessette correctly depicted or we will see justice done.
Speaking of world affairs, I‘ll be honest with you: I think my brain might be fried. It’s difficult for me to focus on work, and while things are definitely getting done, they’re not getting done with much velocity. I mostly want to look at my phone and shop for things. Or rather, I like the idea of buying things, but I don’t follow through with it 95% of the time because I’m not so far gone as to think I really need most of it. (Watching a few “re-stock my car” or “pack my Stanley” videos will scare you straight when it comes to mindless shopping, anyway.)
I know this is because there is a lot of Bad News right now. Weirdly, I feel like I have (for the moment, anyway) a healthy amount of perspective on bad news. It’s not that I’m not worried and disgusted and sad by turns, it’s just that my capacity to influence world events is minimal at best and my capacity to care for myself and the people I love is much bigger, and certainly has a more appreciable impact. I guess this is getting older? It’s not the worst.
This weekend, I looked through the newspaper front pages and clippings my mom saved from the olden days, including the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated, Nixon’s resignation, and the day Iran agreed to release American hostages. There are positive clippings, too: the end of World War 2, the moon landing, the day I was born. But also on that day, Syrian and Israeli air forces fought over the Mediterranean, there was a coup in Chile, bombings in London, and a fire in Frankfurt that killed five immigrants. So, things are always happening. Every day, there is strife somewhere.
A few years ago, my wise and lovely friend Sally said of parenting young children in New York City during the early pandemic: You just have to focus on making their world beautiful. So, despite the strife and the fried brain and the newspaper front pages that make me wonder what, if any, progress we’ve made, I will try.
The Death Heat is upon us. If this is a taste of Junes of the future, I’d like to go on the record as strenuously objecting. This morning (Monday), when I took the dogs outside at 7 am, it was already 86 degrees. I suppose the good news was that it wasn’t going to get much hotter; the bad news was, that was more than hot enough.
My little dogs, however, can’t get enough of it. Even the little one, who is dark brown and presumably heats up faster (and in her puppy days used to simply flop down in the grass on walks, content to be dragged for several feet by her brother), likes to bake herself on the brick patio. The bigger one would stay out there all day if we let him and that is why you will find me, in these truly DOG DAYS of summer, applying sunscreen to his belly and fussing at him to come inside and drink some water.
I had last Thursday off for Juneteenth and was meant to work on Friday, but most of my colleagues had taken the day off and the whole effort had a very GIRL I GUESS vibe to it. I met a friend/former colleague for a long lunch at a pho restaurant I haven’t darkened the door of in years, and was pleased to find it much the same as I’d left it.
In the olden days, when I was a magazine editor, my now-husband and I would go to this restaurant for lunch. The owner, who we’d featured in the magazine a few times, would always send out some appetizers, which is why I once had to put a shrimp eggroll in my purse to avoid insulting his generosity (I don’t care for shrimp and my husband is allergic to them). When we’d finished eating, the owner would come out with a bottle of nice red wine and we’d all sit there and drink it, and I’m not sure I was much good at the office afterward.
Sitting in the restaurant waiting for my friend, I looked across at the table where we’d had these sessions. I could see myself stuffing that eggroll in my purse – at the time, it would have been a big red pleather bag from Target – laughing and shushing my husband, who at the time was just my coworker. I thought about how much had changed in less than a decade and then realized that, no, it had all happened 18 years ago.
After the magazine closed, I reverted to being just another patron – no more shrimp rolls to stow away. It’s just as enjoyable in many ways, but I miss afternoons like that. I hope someone out there is still having this type of experience. You really can’t beat it.
I had my French lesson on Sunday and learned that my teacher enjoys true crime podcasts. If you get the opportunity, I really encourage you to hear a French person say true crime because it sounds much more intriguing than it does with a regular-degular American accent. I asked if she was familiar with Dateline and she was not! So now she has an entire library of weird American murders to consume. As my friend Christine said, “This is some good cross-cultural education.”
It is the least I can do for this very nice woman, who is willing to listen to me absolutely butcher her language for 45 minutes each week and never seems to run out of follow-up questions to the bullet points I bring for conversation each week, which are all about as riveting as you’d think: I went to a concert last Tuesday. I made a salad yesterday evening, it had lettuce, carrots, peas, and onions. I went to the museum and saw paintings, sculptures, textiles, and furniture.
Some weeks, I feel as though I am making a lot of progress. Last week, I learned how to use the future tense, so I can talk about things I will do rather than just things I did do, followed by a list of nouns. As Amanda of Amanda’s Mild Takes is always reminding us, the future is unknowable. Perhaps especially so right now! But we should still discuss it, and plan for it.
And so. Je persiste.